


Ashes to Ashes

by Prisioux



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prisioux/pseuds/Prisioux
Summary: Jon did not know where she had gone to when she disappeared, but she returned.Daenerys returned and everything changed.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	Ashes to Ashes

She looked terrifyingly beautiful.

Even at her lowest, Daenery's beauty was undeniable.

He could still hear Tyrion´s words.

 _Everywhere she goes, evil men die_.

A tyrant. A monster.

But her eyes- her beautiful, violet eyes…

They looked the same to Jon.

_She is not mad. She is not her father._

_This is war._

_This is what war looks like._

Fires everywhere. Red. Green.

They burnt indiscriminately. Both the bad and the good. Innocent and guilty.

 _She_ had burnt them all.

***

“Have you reached a decision?” 

Stunned, Jon offered no reply.

He looked down at his feet in shame, unable to face the woman he loved and feared, who stood there, defiant, powerful, magic.

“Oh, I see.”

The large dragon flying over them roared- and Daenerys smiled.

“ The Jon we all know and love. Indecisive, unable to commit, confused.”

She took steps back, her gaze still set upon him.

“Very well” she shrugged “ Take your time. No need to hurry.”

Jon would like to protest, to say she was imagining things, but he had never been a good liar. 

“The man who passes the sentence swings the sword.” Daenerys said with unhidden disdain.

As he again failed to offer a reply, Daenerys pointed at the dagger, visible on his belt.

“ Just a word of advice, Jon: I will fight back.”

Obviously pleased with the sheer horror she had instilled in his heart, Daenerys delivered the final blow:

“ with Fire and Blood.”

***

Jon watched as Daenerys gave Grey Worm and the blood rider called Rhakaro a series of instructions in a foreign language. From his distance, it seemed they were either confused by her orders or perhaps, even dared to disagree with her.

When she finally dismissed them, Daenerys, without ever looking back at Jon, mounted on her dragon and flew away.

***

Three days passed until the Queen finally returned to King's Landing.

Jon was led by two Dothraki warriors to Daenerys' apartments, where she sat behind a wooden desk, three dragon heads proudly carved at the front.

Pieces of parchment spread out, candles burning, the faint smell of melted wax mixed with something stronger- a herb perhaps- a tray with a two pinchers, one water, the other wine, and goblets

Placing the feather down, Daenerys turned her head upwards to finally face Jon.

Like before, Jon was struck by her beauty- strained as she was, her eyes blood red where it had been pure violet, her gaze, strangely, was unsettlingly focused, like she could see things others could not and perhaps, she could.

She had seen through him had she not?

had she been crying?

Was Jon imagining things?

He was not good at guessing...he was not good at many things.

_She regrets it...she regrets it._

But he knows her- or think he does.

_She regrets it...she regrets it._

“I am informed you did not leave your chambers while I was away this week.”

_A full week?_

“Greyworm had to deal with your men. They were trying to...take _liberties_ with the womenfolk.” Daenerys then sipped from a goblet of wine, lips turning red as she placed the goblet down.“ I think I prefer Arbor Gold to Dornish Sour.”

“Dany, you did not summon me to discuss wine.”

Daenerys took a deep breath- Jon had obviously overstepped.

“Not even eight days ago, you were considering sticking me with the proverbial pointy end and you _still_ think of good taste to call me _Dany._ ”

She shook her head in mock disapproval. “ Gods, Jon- you are really _that_ stupid. No wonder that sister of yours made a mockery of your rulership over The North.”

At the mention of Sansa, Jon´s posture stiffened. Daenerys was not wrong; Sansa had treated him not as her Lord, not even as her equal, but as a servant.

Now that Jon was south, he could only imagine what Sansa would do next.

“ _Your Grace_ , if I may ask…”

Daenerys waived her hands and Jon silenced himself.

“ _Lord Snow,_ it is very simple: The North chose you. You bent the knee. You left Lady Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell and Stewardess of the North. If she breaks Faith with _me_ , this means she broke Faith with _you_.”

“...and the punishment for treason is death.” Jon knew it well. Had he not executed men- and a child- for the same reason?

Surprisingly, when it came to Sansa's fate, Jon hardly felt anything other than exasperation.

_Even as a young girl all Sansa wanted was to be Queen. I suppose she did not change much._

“Much has happened in the past days, Lord Snow. I traveled to The Reach. I restored House Tyrell- a nephew of Lady Olenna will marry her Redwyne granddaughter- reassured Lady Tarly she would not lose her lands and joined Lord Hightower at the Starry Sept, where I swore an Oath I would rebuild not only King's Landing but also the Great Sept. In the next few days, I expect The Citadel to send me a list with three potential GrandMasters.”

“I also visited Prince Manfrey Martell, a cousin of the late Prince, offered my deepest sympathies and signed mutually beneficial trade agreements. Storm's End, Riverrun, The Eyrie- they all bent the knee, Lord Snow.”

Jon listened in silence as Daenerys went on. Lady Yara had, on her own accord, gave up her Crown. Apparently, the Ironborn traded the freedom of her people for their survival: the Iron Islands were poor and all help they could get would be welcomed.

Daenerys was conducting negotiations with Casterly Rock. All this on dragonback, carrying only her Queensguard.

" I do not trust ravens", she said simply.

Apparently, Daenerys had agreed to recognize the claim of Lucion Lannister, a very distant cousin of Tyrion, in exchange for the recognition of her own claim.

“ But we are yet to reach an agreement regarding the war reparations House Lannister owes us. ”

“As for your question, Lord Snow: if you want to forgive yet another treason, this is _your_ problem. Mind I remind you, Lord Snow, you were a King without lands. To appease Sansa, you granted her Winterfell. If she breaks Faith and you chose to do nothing, I have no use for you. A warden in name only is no warden, Lord Snow.”

Daenerys then poured more wine into a goblet, offering it to Jon, who took it.

She then raised her own goblet, a mockery of a toast.

“ We should do this more often. Alcohol makes you _tolerable_.”

“You will declare war on the North if they defy you.” Jon felt nothing at the prospect of more war. In his short life, the fight was all he knew.

It seemed to Jon that, like the seasons, war and peace always followed one another in a macabre dance, constant forces of nature, almost independent of humans interference.

“Lord Snow, you just left a skeleton guard behind when you came south. All Sansa has are her maids, a Maester, and a couple of old Lords sitting their arses on wooden castles.” 

Jon could have laughed if the situation was not so dire. As usual, Daenerys was right. Sansa, whom Arya inexplicably deemed the smartest person she ever met, was greatly outsmarted.

“The North is here, Jon, within these walls. Isolationist, racist, backward as your people are, the Lords are still Lords: they want not only to survive but to prosper. Sansa and Bran might be powerful in their own heads, but they have nothing to offer. "

"The North is here”

  
  


***

When Daenerys was made aware that the architects she expected from Pentos had arrived, Jon was promptly dismissed.

Only upon arriving at his chambers that Jon realized he had not asked about Ser Davos or Tyrion, an oversight that vexed him.

Despite this, Jon slept well that evening, his uneasiness only returning when he woke up.

Still, Jon pressed on; he had already lost a week of his life by closing himself off and he needed his wits if he was to lead his men back home.

As Jon took an available seat next to a couple of Unsullied, he heard a familiar voice:

“Are you not surprised there is still a great hall?”

 _Ser Davos_.

“ Aye...from where I looked, it seemed as if the Red Keep had been completely destroyed.”

Ser Davos nodded.“There were no caskets of wildfire underneath the Keep.” The native of Flea´s botton politely asked the Unsullied at Jon´s right to scoot over so that he could join them on the bench.

” The Pyromancers are helping put out the flames and told us about Cersei. Unlike Dragonfire, the wildfire has a long life, so we needed their help.”

Jon was incredulous. But it was true, was it not? The proof, Ser Davos said, was the fact they were able to have this conversation inside the castle in the first place.

“So, Her Grace did not destroy as much as …”

“Her Grace wanted to show her strength and end the war, not unlike Aegon did at Harrenhal.” Davos paused, the screams and confusion of that hour still fresh on his mind. “ When Her Grace summoned me for a meeting, my hands were trembling. It took a while until I calmed down. She explained things...at first, I did not believe her, but then she asked me and the northerners to help the Unsullied clean the city and carry the injured to be treated. She organized two hospitals, mostly silent sisters and some Dothraki women healers helping…”

According to Ser Davos, among the civilians, the death toll was just slightly higher than during the sacking of King's Landing. “ The Lannisters made the smallfolk dig a large grave on the banks of the Blackwater. I was forced to join. I will never forget it, how large the grave was, and how deep it was.”

“ I can assure you, Jon, the grave we and the Unsullied dug were of the same size. Go and see- go and see.”

Jon did not need to; he trusted Davos' word above all others.

It was then that Jon noticed the Hand of the Queen pin on Ser Davos.

A half-hearted attempt at humor was all that Jon was capable at the moment.“ You took another job.”

True to form, Davos smiled. “ Well, Her Grace is not unlike the late Stannis. Dutiful to a fault. Strong and fair. Their only flaw was in placing their trust in undeserving people.”

Ser Davos stood and patted Jon on the back. “ If I have learned anything from all of this, Jon, was that even good people make mistakes. Terrible mistakes. Mistakes with grave consequences.” 

” If we give good people a chance, they will move hell and earth to make their wrongs right, Jon. But , if we give bad people time expecting them to regret their mistakes, they will eventully come after us.”

Before leaving the great hall, Ser Davos offered Jon another smile 

***

Daenerys was, by Ser Davo's definition, a good woman who made a mistake.

Deep inside his heart, Jon knew it was true.

Could he say the same about his family?

That they were mostly good people that simply committed a mistake?

Could he?

***

Another two days passed until he saw her again. “ We reached an agreement with House Lannister.”

Tyrion was to be delivered into the custody of the new Lord of Casterly Rock, who had confirmed attendance in Daenerys coronation.

To Jon, this seemed to be a merciful act.

“ You do have a gentle heart, Your Grace.”

“If you think allowing a known traitor to die in his ancestral home is mercy, then yes, Jon, I am merciful. His crimes against House Lannister are as great, if not greater, than his crimes against House Targaryen, it is only fair they are the ones to decide Tyrion´s fate- ” 

Jon had forgotten that Tyrion was, in fact, a fugitive of the Crown, that he not only supposedly murdered his nephew, but definitely killed his Lord father before fleeing execution.

Not to mention, Tyrion still had a claim over Casterly Rock. He had not joined the Night's Watch or entered the Faith- he was still, by all means in purposes, the disinherited son of the previous Lord Lannister, an embarrassment for the new one.

“ He was tried last night and found guilty of conspiring against the people by withholding vital military information, only the matter of his execution is pending. It is written in ink that Tyrion provided me with faulty advice that led to an unnecessary death toll in hopes to buy Cersei time so that she could escape. I have no use for him anymore. Tyrion is a westerlander who committed great crimes against his own family, crimes that preceded the ones he committed against the population of King's Landing, and I felt it was only right they were the ones to carry the sentence.”

Jon himself had assumed Cersei used all the wildfire there was, only to find out, like anything else, how wrong he had been.

Tyrion met with his sister, in private, before they left for Winterfell. Nobody knows what they spoke about and it was not a stretch, in views of his past actions, to suppose he knew more than le let on about Cersei and kept Daenerys in the dark.

In any case, Tyrion was, as Daenerys pointed out, a known criminal.

His days were numbered.

***

But Tyrion was not the reason Daenerys had called Jon for a meeting. 

“The day of my coronation, we are to be married.”

Dark circles under her reddish, swollen eyes, Jon did not ask for a further explanation for he had no time. Daenerys excused herself to her apartment for what Jon could only suspect to be well-deserved respite, but not before she called Ser Davos in.

“I tried to convince both Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys that a marriage pact would have been a good idea, but I was ignored.” Back then, Ser Davos attributed their cold reception to this very obvious idea as to Tyrion being obviously in love with the Queen and Varys, a eunuch, simply ignorant of the ways of the heart.

In retrospect, however, Ser Davos came to believe in Her Grace´s version of the facts she had simply been given awful advice by people who either wanted her to fail or did not know how to make her succeed.

“Her Grace is weary of war. She decided not to fight The North if your siblings declare independence- at least, not in the way they anticipate.”

There would be no dragon flying over Winterfell and torching everything on its way. Daenerys would simply close her borders, confiscate any ship that would sail from or to White Harbour, and forbid the northern army stationed in King´s Landing from returning until a solution was reached.

If this came to pass, how long until their own people turned against the Starks would be anyone's guess.

“The marriage is the last resort, Her Grace´s last attempt at placating your family. I recommend you accept it, Jon. Stannis would speak highly of your Lord Eddard Stark, so I assumed his progeny would be as honorable as he was, but I was wrong. “

Jon could not blame Davos. Sansa, Brandon...even Arya did not measure up to the example of Ned Stark. “ Lady Sansa's hostility was clear. Lord Brandon, despite the Powers he claimed were bestowed upon him by the Old Gods, offered no assistance during the fight. As much as I hate the Lord of Light, Jon, Lady Melisandre at least did something worthy of note with her Magic.”

 _Arya...he does not know about Arya._ Jon breathed in relief. They had no means of knowing about Arya´s betrayal. 

That moment on the streets of King's Landing, where his sister told Jon to kill Daenerys, happened far from anyone's ears.

Arya would be safe. Arya was not ambitious as Sansa, nor as menacing as Bran.

Arya would no---

“ Greyworm and Rhakaro captured your little sister. She killed one of Her Grace Dothraki handmaidens in violent fashion used dark magic to have her face removed in order t---”

Jon stopped listening. Further explanations were unnecessary: Arya, by her own admission, was a killer. Jon heard the rumors about a bag filled with human faces...

Arya was talented with a knife, yes, but she was also young and foolish. She became overconfident. Few in her place would not. She had, after all, killed the Night's King.

Skilled as she was, Arya was not the only trained in the ways of the faceless men. The Unsullied and Dorthraki, soldiers from Essos, were aware of the different methods used by different assassins guilds of their continent. 

A westerosi would have discounted a maid behaving in an odd way, but not a trained and seasoned essossi warrior.

They found the body, connected the dots, and Arya was caught unawares.

“I need to speak with her…”

Ser Davos thought as much :

“ Jon, you have my word your sis---.”

_Arya- he thinks I want to speak with Arya._

“No, you do not understand. I need to speak with Her Grace. I need to speak with Daenerys.”

***

She readily agreed to the meeting. It did not surprise Jon she would be willing to talk, but then he had to stop himself: Daenerys had been always been willing to talk things over.

The one prone to silences and mopping, uncomfortable with words and feelings, was Jon.

But what did surprise Jon was that Daenerys did not even bother to inform him personally about Arya.

Could he blame her for the oversight? Should he have expected more consideration from her?

No.

Not only that, but if someone was to blame, this someone was Jon.

_My family went too far._

The North had elected _him_ . They had made _him_ , Jon, not Sansa, not Arya, not even Brandon, the Head of House Stark. 

And what was the first responsibility of a Head of the House? To rein in unruly family members, to ensure their behavior reflected the policies adopted by its Head in an honorable way.

If they had failed Jon, Jon also had failed them.

Arya...had no business being there. She had no business interfering in such a delicate moment. Arya claimed to have absolutely no interest in the managing of their House, but there she was, getting herself involved in political schemes that undoubtedly could be traced back to Sansa. 

Murdering a Queen was an incredibly bold political move. The last days had taught Jon more than the last years of his life.

Sansa, Tyrion, Arya...they all tried, in different ways, for different reasons, to move him across the board as a pawn.

The worst of all, Jon knew Arya thought she was doing them all a favour. Arya had nothing against killers. She said it herself: she was one. She was a killer.

What Arya had against Daenerys was the fact her name was not Stark. This "flaw" made Daenerys crimes- small, middling, great- unforgivable in Arya's eyes.

Had Jon cared enough to see his family with the eyes of a legitimate Head of House, instead with the eyes of the bastard brother who was pathetically _grateful_ at having a place at the high table, this would never have happened.

And by this, Jon meant _everything_ \- from the North´s ingratitude, to his coldness towards Daenerys when she clearly needed him most, to his lethargy in the days following their meeting at the Throne Room- either by action or inaction, he was the source of all the problems of the Realm.

_And Prince Rhaegar Targaryen risked all to conceive me._

What a waste! If his birth father had known it would come to this, his only son so close at being responsible for the ending of His House, Rhaegar Targaryen would have not bothered with Lyanna Stark.

***

“I have been waiting for you. Have you reached a decision? "

“Arya came to kill you. On behalf of House Stark, I...I…”

Were apologies necessary at this point? 

Daenerys believed they were beyond that. “ Who are you to judge? You also came here to kill me, Jon, remember

? I am Queen- people want to kill me _all the time_ . Robert, the warlocks, the harpies, Jaime.. _.you_. This is nothing new.”

And they were all dead, Jon reminded himself- the enemies of the Queen.

Arya, the one he loved most, had died. Long time ago, if he was being true to himself. Another victim of the war.

Arya had died, the child Jon loved, and had been replaced by this cold-blooded killer he could barely recognize, let alone, love.

But memories of days past lingered. Arya, his sister, had died...

but this Arya, this stranger, was still a Stark of Winterfell, and this still meant something.

If not for him, for Ned, for Benjen, for Lyanna.

Targaryen blood or not, Jon would not have another wolf killed by fire in those halls.

“The punishment for treason is death. All I ask is that you allow me to honor the Old way in which we have been reared. I know I should not be asking this, but---”

“It would be in poor taste to deny this to you, Lord Snow.” Daenerys' reasoning was simple- dispassionate even: since she had extended the same courtesy to House Lannister, a foe, she could not deny the same courtesy to House Stark, an _ally_.

"Now, please, leave me be."

***

It all happened in the space of seven days.

First, the trial

Jon himself read the charges. Arya did not protest- she freely admitted to everything.

Baking sons into pies and feeding it to their father.

Not freeing her uncle when she had the opportunity to.

She even added a curious tidbit: when confessing she had also planned to murder her sister at Winterfell and wear her face, Arya let it slip that breaking her promise to Jon had not been the first time Sansa betrayed a family member.

Before Jon could read Arya´s sentence, Daenerys asked a word. “ As a gift to my betrothed and in deference to your role in the war for Winterfell, I offer you, Arya of House Stark, another chance: swear before the Gods you worship that you will leave Westeros never to come back again. Swear that you will never seek retribution against House Targaryen for past offenses, real or imagined. Swear that you will spend the rest of your life in exile and I will let you go.”

The answer, in Arya´s estimation, could only be one:

“ _No_.”

Daenerys shrugged and looked at Jon.

It was time.

“I will make it quick, Arya.” 

Unfortunately, his sister was less than impressed by this show of mercy: “Fuck off, _Aegon._ ”

True to Jon´s promise, Longclaw ended Arya´s life in a fraction of second.

Not to be outdone by House Stark, the young and impressionable Lord Lannister decided that he too would be the one to carry out the sentence. Fearing the boy, not yet in his twenties, would butcher the execution and unnecessarily extend the pain of the convict, Jon quietly approached Lucion and instructed him on the easiest and quickest way.

Seeing an opportunity, the young man asked if he could use Longclaw too:

“ I always wanted to yield a Valyrian Steel sword.”

Widow's wail had been confiscated by Daenerys- part of the reparation plan both Houses Targaryen and Lannister had agreed to.

Jon saw no problems with the request. “ Make sure to return it to me after it is done.”

While Lord Lannister could improve on the way he swung the sword, he managed to do the job nevertheless.

The day ended with a teary-eyed Sansa asking for “ forgiveness” and offering to swear fealty right there, but being denied both times. 

Sansa was sent packing, beyond the wall, where Jon trusted Tormund to at least try and teach his ladylike, manual work-weary cousin the ways of the Free Folk.

***

The last part of the trial came as a surprise to Jon.

“ Ser Davos, could you please read the charges against Lord Brandon Stark and former heir of House Tarly, former black brother of the Night's Watch, former Citadel acolyte, Samwell Tarly?”

For a moment, Jon worried. 

But he needn't be: the charges were for minor crimes, of the kind that would normally not warrant a Great Council trial.

Daenerys, however, wanted to humiliate both men for interfering with what they both could hardly understand, one being a boy playing at Magic, the other, a learned man that had learned nothing of use.

“You have a choice, Samwell Tarly: either return to the Night's Watch or to The Citadel, with all that entails. I forgive you for your part in the conspiracy against my rule, not only because you saved a friend of mine, but also due to the obvious naivité of your actions. A stolen diary is hardly an official document of a deed, but is a stolen diary still.”

A pregnant Gilly watched as Samwell chose the comforts of the south over the coldness of the north, mayhaps reasoning that, since he would not be allowed to keep her as common law wife, that a break up was in order.

(Disgusted by this last act of cowardice, Jon later approached Gilly, placed in the small woman's hands a pouch with a coin, assuring Gilly she would have a place in Winterfell if she so wanted. She did.)

Brandon accepted his verdict if not with grace, with his usual coldness. He was sent not to Winterfell, not even beyond the wall, but to the Iron Islands, where he would live in exile for the rest of his life, far from the weirwood trees...or any trees for the matter.

His last words to Jon were, typically, cryptic:

" I came all this way here. It happened as I saw: you were where you were supposed to be. But alas, you did not do what you were supposed to do. And now...I will see no more. "

***

The next day was the coronation. Daenerys insisted they adapted the ceremony to the new reality of a realm still recovering from years of war, starvation and cold. 

Thus the whole affair was a rather humble one- not what nobles would have expected from a feast marking the Restoration. of House Targaryen 

But what the ceremony lacked in excessive displays of wealth, it more than made up for ritualistic imagery: Daenerys had conceived the whole thing as her- and _her_ alone- wedding the realm. 

The first to robe her was the new Prince of Dorne, Manfrey, followed by Lords Baratheon, Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, and , to the shock of many, Jon included, Lady Yara of the Iron Islands.

They all cloaked her, they all exchanged vows of fealty and, by Daenarys insistence “ mutual loyalty, friendship and love.”

Jon, as the actual groom, was the last to be called at the Altar. He cloaked Daenerys in the colours of His House- nothing was or would be said about his paternity-, and repeated the same vows the other Lords had made, only adding the usual wedding vows at the end.

When all was said and done, Jon leaned in and kissed Daenerys.

***

Jon entered their shared chambers, where they would consummate the wedding, to find it almost entirely consummated by a heavy, strong scented cloud of smoke.

Daenerys, eyes closed, hips moving in a wave, was singing in a queer, foreign Language- one that Jon had never heard her speaking before.

“What is this song about?” Jon was forced to ask, as Daenerys had hardly noticed his arrival.

“Mmmm...you would not understand...is about Major Tom. He was a junkie.”

> _My mother said, to get things done_
> 
> _You'd better not mess with Major Tom_
> 
> _My mother said, to get things done_
> 
> _You'd better not mess with Major Tom_

Coming closer, Jon noticed Daenerys was holding a pipe. 

This time, she took notice of his eyes on her. “ Hashish- Ser Davos told me it is known as sailor´s grass in the Stepstones. It helps with anxiety...makes you….relax. But not to be consumed daily...it is...addictive.”

As a way of teaching Jon, Daenerys placed the pipe in her mouth, inhaled, then held the smoke inside her mouth, just to release it into Jon´s, the strangest kiss he had ever received.

It was like being drunk - instantly.

> Ashes to ashes, funk to funky
> 
> We know Major Tom's a junkie
> 
> Strung out in heaven's high
> 
> Hitting an all-time low

Having offered Jon the pipe, who took it, Daenerys danced and touched and danced and kissed and danced and undressed him only to stop when they were both abed and she was firmly impaled in his cock, dancing and smoking and singing and fucking him until they both screamed their releases.

It was the sweetest thing Jon had ever experienced and he slept in her arms, in peace, sated, happy.

***

The next day, Jon told Daenerys he loved her, that he was happy it was all over, that they were now together and would always be, because he loved her and she loved him.

  
Daenerys looked dumbstruck.

“ _Love you_?”

She laughed.

“Jon...I barely _know_ you.”

Leaving a stunned Jon behind, Daenerys stood up and, without ever looking back at him, simply grabbed her pipe.

For a few blissful moments, the traveler returned to her magical world. But not the fucked up one she had come from-the better one. The one where David Bowie was still alive, the plague belonged in History books and an ugly man was not out there telling people to inject themselves with chlorox and die happily to protect the economy


End file.
